


Crawl Inside

by checkthemargins



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Stream of Consciousness, Underage Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2013-01-22
Packaged: 2017-11-26 10:56:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/649791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/checkthemargins/pseuds/checkthemargins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek finds a place to hide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crawl Inside

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Teen Wolf fic! I am actually writing a rather long Derek/Jackson fic and meant to do a short, non-porny drabble to mess around with their voices. Instead this 1k of nothing but porn and ~feelings came out. Que sera. I hope that you enjoy and any concrit/feedback would be greatly appreciated! Also please note the warning that Jackson is 17, and I generally put Derek at around 25.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I don't own Teen Wolf or any of its characters or places or storylines. This is just for kicks.

**Crawl Inside**

Jackson tastes like salt and tears and fear, like pulsing blood and scar tissue, and he smells like clean boy and heat and expensive shampoo and more expensive cologne. Derek sinks his teeth into the nape of his neck and Jackson keens, quiet and needy and goes pliant, reaches back to palm at Derek's side. Derek pulls his hair but threads the fingers of his free hand through Jackson's groping one, he folds Jackson's shorter fingers into his own, palm over Jackson's knuckles. He draws blood with his teeth but he fucks into him slow and deep and possessive. The world is Technicolor behind his closed eyes. Derek's scars are on the back of Jackson's neck.

Jackson fights it, because he always does, but he's the neediest bitch Derek's ever met or heard of and the part of himself that finds it annoying and inconvenient wants to shove Jackson's face into his poor little privileged rich boy carpet and fuck him up. But the rest of him, the bigger part of him, the part of him that's _alpha_ , that has a thick throb of _pack_ nestled deep and thriving in his chest, loves it. Loves that Jackson sticks so close to him all the time, loves that he argues and runs his smart mouth and bats his pretty eyelashes and scowls and hates everything but that he slots his hand in Derek's or curls his fingers into Derek's shirt or tucks himself into the curve of Derek's body with nothing more than a look from his alpha.

And maybe he loves the way Jackson needs him, maybe he likes talking to him sometimes and maybe Jackson makes him laugh every once in a while. Maybe he has dreams about fire and pain and grief and it feels a little better when he wakes up and has miles of naked skin and a warm, whole, breathing body next to him with quiet blue eyes and nothing to say but that'll slide a little closer and nudge underneath Derek's chin and pinch the shit out of arm until Derek stops dwelling on nightmares. The last person Derek fucked burnt his entire life to the ground and she did it with a smile. Jackson hauls lumber around with his shirt off and sweat slicking his bare chest and back because he refuses to live in a wrecked hovel anymore. It's a hell of a metaphor. Derek expects a lot from the people he fucks.

Jackson growls his name, low and grumpy and Derek smirks, laps at the scars he left on Jackson's neck, dicks into him harder until Jackson cries out. There's something really wrong about this, because Jackson's parents think he's dead and they're at work and Jackson's broken in to steal some of his shit to take back home and Derek really shouldn't have let himself get distracted. These people are grieving. They lost their son three months ago. They haven't even touched his room.

But Christ does his boy look pretty like this, sprawled out underneath him naked and wanting and rocking his hips back into Derek's because there's no part of Jackson that doesn't _need_ this _all the time_. Searching for a master, always, that deep dark part of him that will always crave it. When he's like this he's quieter, shoots his mouth off plenty but is sweeter when Derek shows him affection. When Derek folds their hands together Jackson tips his head to the side and sighs, drags Derek's hand down almost reverently to his neglected dick and fists over it until Derek takes over, grips him tight and thumbs over the head. Jackson says, "Derek," says "Alpha" and "please" and "fill me, fuck me, in me c'mon c'mon..." and Derek lets go of Jackson's wrecked hair and palms his belly instead, thumbs over the give of his navel and along the hard line of his lower abs, smears his fingers through the sweat in the hollow of Jackson's hipbone.

Jackson comes first, without a sound, voice caught in his throat but his cock jerking in Derek's hand, spills white hot and wet all over Derek's hand, all over his own caught underneath and nudging up against his balls. He clenches down around Derek's cock buried so fucking deep inside him and Derek breathes through it, whispers Jackson's name this time, says, "Jackson, sweetheart" because nothing gets Jackson off quite like being nice to him does, like humiliating him does, and the pet name slips off his tongue easily now (Stiles thinks it's hilarious, got Jackson a custom-made bowling shirt with Sweetheart embroidered on the chest, has taken to calling him cutie and button and sweetie mcmuffin whenever Jackson's within hearing distance. Derek has to physically restrain his youngest beta almost every time from tearing Stiles's throat out, hide a smile in the back of Jackson's hair while the others laugh and Scott tries half-heartedly to keep the peace). 

He pulls out and Jackson sort of whines, lets out harsh breath when Derek flips him over, spreads his legs and shoves back in. Jackson arches his back and digs his fingers into Derek's hair and blinks up at him through hazy, sex-soft blue eyes and Derek feels his eyes rolls back into his head. He sinks his teeth into the side of Jackson's neck and tastes his blood and _comes_ , crashes over the edge and flies apart. He moans low and guttural when Jackson's legs wrap around him and sinks himself in deeper like he can crawl inside this goddamn kid and stay for a while. For as long as it takes. Forever, maybe.

For a second, in the haze of the afterglow, Derek imagines the picture they must make, sprawled out on the floor of Jackson's old bedroom, trophies and medals and seventeen years of Jackson's life on the walls and furniture and right here on the carpet. It smells like sex.

Fingers are tugging at his hair. Derek blinks slowly, eyelashes grazing Jackson's neck, and lifts his head. Jackson's tongue is just swiping over his top lip. His face is still flushed, freckles stark against the red. Derek paws lazily at his cheek and Jackson's mouth pulls into an unwilling grin, corner catching against Derek's palm.

"Not what I came here for, man."

Derek's still inside him. He hitches Jackson's thigh up around his hip where it's started to fall and kisses his pretty mouth, bites his bottom lip, licks his way inside and melts into the way Jackson just opens right up for him.

They'll get up eventually, probably share a shower in Jackson's private bathroom because it's not like his parents aren't going to know someone broke in anyway. Right now he curls his hand back around Jackson's cock and swallows the rough sound he makes, feels Jackson scrape his tongue over the blunt human cut of Derek's canine, and thinks _mine_.

**END**


End file.
